The Unfaithfully Faithful Chocoholic

My dream chocolate bar? Honestly, I don’t have one. Because choosing a favorite chocolate feels like betraying the rest of the sweet gang. I’m not biased. (Okay, maybe slightly biased when Ferrero Rocher winks at me.) From Alpenliebe’s buttery hug to Dairy Milk’s creamy whisper, from KitKat’s crunchy gossip to the posh poetry of Lindt, I love them all. Call me a chocoloyalist.

You see, chocolates are my emotional support snacks.
“One bite, and even Monday backs off.”

They don’t judge. They just sit there in sparkly wrappers, saying, “You’ve got this,” then melt into magic. I once cried over a broken sandal and found peace in a Five Star. That’s the power they hold — not just sugar, but sorcery.

I often imagine chocolates having group therapy in my cupboard. Perk feels insecure because it’s too lightweight. Bounty cries that no one likes coconut. Snickers can’t stop boasting about its protein. And there I am, the chocolate whisperer, loving them all equally — well, almost.

“Chocolate is the only triangle I enjoy — Toblerone.”

They say love should be loyal. But in the world of chocolates, I say love should be limitless. My dream chocolate isn’t a bar — it’s a buffet of personalities, each waiting for the right mood to unwrap them.

Thought to ponder:
If we can love so many chocolates without guilt, why do we hesitate to love different versions of ourselves the same way?